


no (wo)man is an island

by Atlanta_Black



Series: Harry Potter One-shots [23]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Hermione Granger, Chaos Harry Potter, Dreamsharing, F/F, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Female Tom Riddle, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Soul Bond, The Golden Trio, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, i'm convinced hermione could solve all the world's problems if she just had enough time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:34:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28606032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlanta_Black/pseuds/Atlanta_Black
Summary: Holding someone’s soul next to your own for seventeen years leaves behind an echo.An echo is all that’s needed to carry a voice across space(and time).
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter/Ron Weasley
Series: Harry Potter One-shots [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875151
Comments: 3
Kudos: 138





	no (wo)man is an island

_Cause my echo, echo_

_Is the only voice coming back_

_Shadow, shadow_

_Is the only friend that I have_

_I don't wanna be an island_

_I just wanna feel alive_

’Echo’ | Jason Walker

  


⚔

  
She’s seventeen and staring at Lady Voldemort’s body lying motionless on the floor of the great hall. Seventeen-years-old and there’s ash in the air, and blood on her hands, and Lady Voldemort’s hand is still loosely clasped around the wand that didn’t yield to her. Her eyes still open and staring blankly at the ceiling, the ghost of a snarl forever left imprinted on her lips.

Harry Potter stands silent and staring, wand still raised — words still hanging in the air between where the Dark Lady had once stood tall and proud, and where she still stands. _Try for some regret Tamsine_ , she had said, a futile plea that had never stood a chance. 

Harry Potter still stands, hair a butchered mess around her shoulders, and blood on her hands. 

But in her dreams, in her dreams Tamsine Riddle stares up at her with wide, dark eyes and asks _“Why did no one ever come save me?”_  


⚔

  
She’s eighteen and the auror robes hang stiff around her neck, the collar too scratchy, and the teacher too rigid. _You must hold your wand this way, and you must listen to your superiors, and you must, must always do as you’re told._

Because doing as she was told was _clearly_ her strong suit. Because doing as they were told had worked out so well for the aurors when Voldemort came back. Ron kicks the back of her leg when she opens her mouth to say as much, and shoots her a warning look when she turns to glare at him. 

“You’ve gotta hold your tongue, Harry.” He tells her later at lunch, voice chiding and gentle. “They won’t care. They’ll only kick you out.” 

“Maybe I want to be kicked out,” she snaps back, braiding and unbraiding her hair with shaky, agitated fingers. 

“Okay,” he shrugs, smiling at Hermione when she approaches their cafeteria table. “If that’s what you want, then go out with a bang—” Hermione presses a kiss to his cheek and then moves to sit next to Harry, gifting her a kiss as well “—just make sure it’s what you want.”

“Is what what you want?” Hermione asks, curious eyes digging into the side of her face. 

She shrugs, planting her elbows on the tables and taking a bite of her sandwich so she doesn’t have to answer. 

Ron rolls his eyes and answers for her. “She’s going to get herself fired if she does what she wants and tells the Auror instructor exactly what she thinks of his lectures.”

She glances sideways at Hermione and finds her staring at Ron with a questioning expression. She’s sure if she were to glance at Ron she’d find the matching exasperated expression that he always meets that look with. Their own unspoken form of communication that she’s never been able to crack. As if the twitch of an eyebrow or the slightest curve of a lip is supposed to mean something more than it does. 

“Well if that’s what you want,” Hermione says, finally looking away from Ron and unwrapping her own sandwich. “Quite honestly Harry, I didn’t expect you to last a month without getting fired,” she says apologetically, bumping her shoulder against Harry’s. 

“Wow… thanks for the faith Hermione,” she mutters, rolling her eyes and bumping shoulders back. 

Ron snorts, lobbing a crisp across the table at her. “She’s right though, I can’t believe you’ve held off for two months. I was sure you’d break last week.”

“Fucking bastard,” she mutters, fighting back the urge to slam her fist on the table. “He’s going to get someone killed with his shit arsed advice!” 

“Well, do you think you could beat him?” Hermione asks in a bland tone, eyes still firmly fixed on her sandwich. 

She opens her mouth to say, yes, of course she could, but hesitates. Thinks of how fast Robards moves and the spells he talks about, all of them slipping from his mouth as easily as quidditch moves slips from hers. “No,” she sighs, throwing her sandwich down in disgust. “No, I couldn’t.” 

Hermione shrugs, glancing sideways at her, mouth just barely twitching. “Do you want to?” 

“Fuck you,” she mutters, elbowing Hermione in the side and glaring at Ron who isn’t even trying to hide his laughter. 

“I’ll beat him in a month,” she promises. Already foreseeing many sleepless nights practicing. “You’ll help me practice won’t you Ron?” She asks sweetly, smiling and batting her eyes at him. 

“Oi! Now wait a minute, this isn’t my problem!” He exclaims, leaning away from the table and pouting.

“But I thought you lovedddddd meeeee,” she sings, grinning when Hermione bursts into giggles at Ron’s disgusted look. 

“Not if you say it like that again.” He throws another crisp at her, smiling all the while. 

She’s nineteen, she’s happy. Even with stupid instructors that she can’t stand, and a job she wants to quit — she’s happy.

_But in her dreams at night, she still dreams of Tamsine Riddle and her two, neat braids hanging like midnight sky down her back. “Why did no one come save me?” The child asks and she stares helplessly, hands always tied behind her back, always unable to reach for her._

_“Why did no one come save me?” Tamsine asks again, and again, and again._

_“I don’t know,” she murmurs, voice like nails, like copper, like sulfur, like the shared taste of venom. “I don’t know.”_   


⚔

  
She’s twenty and McGonagall is staring across the desk at her, eyebrows nearly to her hairline, lips pursed tight.

“You do realize, Miss Potter, how very unusual it would be for a girl of your age to be a defense professor?” 

“Snape was only a year older than me when he was hired,” she points out, repeating the same line Hermione had said to her only an hour ago. 

“Indeed. He also held several masteries at that point.” McGonagall’s eyebrows raise another fraction of a meter. 

“I defeated a dark lord at seventeen,” she counters, shrugging and leaning back in her chair as if her heart isn’t racing in her chest. As if the want in her bones isn’t eating her alive. 

“Defeating a dark lord does not a teacher make,” McGonagall says, fingers tapping slowly against the desk. Behind her, Dumbledore winks from his portrait and Snape glares, the effect rather ruined with him only being oil on a canvas. 

“Maybe not,” she says, tucks her trembling fingers under her thighs. “But it made me into one and I’m the one asking for the position.” 

McGonagall doesn’t answer this time, merely stares at her, fingers still slowly tapping. 

She does her best to not fidget, digs her nails into the bottom of her thighs, and locks her knees so that they don’t shake. She _needs_ this. Needs to be back in this school, in these halls, in these classrooms. 

Needs to try anything, _anything_ to make the dreams stop. 

“Very well Miss Potter,” McGonagall finally says, fingers flattening against the desk. “We shall consider this first year a probationary year. A test year if you will. I will have the contract drawn up and see you tomorrow to go over it.” 

“Thank you, Headmistress,” she breathes, stands on shaking legs and walks down the stairs, taking slow measured breaths the entire way. 

_Thank Merlin,_ she whispers at the bottom, pressing a shaking hand to her face and leaning back against the stone. _Thank Merlin and Morgana and whatever else is out there._

“I got the position,” she tells Hermione and Ron when she gets home, legs still shaking, throat burning and eyes stinging. “I got it.”

“Thank Merlin,” Ron breathes, wrapping his arms around her. “Thank Merlin.” 

“This will help,” Hermione says into her hair, hand warm against the small of her back. “It will, you’ll see. This can’t go on forever.” 

_That night she dreams of Tamsine. Dreams of her dark, accusing eyes and her screams as she throws books at the walls. “WHY DID NO ONE CAME SAVE ME?!” She screams, voice choked and cracked. “WHY?!”_

_“I don’t know,” Harry whispers, hands still tied behind her back, always tied behind her back. “I don’t know, I’m sorry.”_

_“NO YOU’RE NOT, YOU’RE NOT, YOU’RE NOT!”_

_She squeezes her eyes shut and whispers, “I’m sorry,” over and over again, waiting to wake up._   


⚔

  
She’s twenty-one and there is exhaustion weighing down her body.

“You can’t keep going like this,” Hermione whispers, breath ghosting across her cheek. “You just can’t.” 

“I know,” she whispers back, tracing the freckles on Ron’s back. “I know, but what other choice do I have?” 

Hermione falls silent, fingers twisting and untwisting the stands of Harry’s hair she has caught between her own fingers. 

“I’ll figure something out,” Hermione promises, voice fierce. “I’ll figure something out.” She presses a furious kiss to Harry’s lips as if trying to pull the problem from Harry’s body and drag into her own. As if she can chase it away with only the force of her own willpower. 

“I know,” Harry whispers, kisses her hard and fast. “I know.”

_She dreams of Tamsine._

_She always dreams of Tamsine._

_Dreams of her crying, great heaving racking sobs shaking her entire frame. Her cries piercing Harry’s own heart as if they’re a serrated knife meant to drag all the memories of her own childhood to the front of her mind._

_“Why does no one ever come save me?” Tamsine sobs, punches the wall with small fists, and screams through her tears. “Why does no one ever, ever come save me?”_

_“I wish I could,” she says, knowing the words are useless. Knowing she won’t be believed. “Merlin, I wish I fucking could.”_   


⚔

  
She’s twenty-two and laughing on the cold, hard ground of the forbidden forest. “This is mad,” she chokes out, still laughing, fingers sunk deep into the cold earth.

“Then I guess we’re all mad,” Ron laughs, tangling his bloody fingers in her hair and kissing her. “Because we did it, we fucking did it.” 

“It fucking worked,” Hermione breathes out, laughing wildly and scribbling notes in the margin of her notebook. “It actually bloody worked.” 

“Always the tone of surprise,” Ron whispers, laughing into Harry’s mouth. “As if she would have let us do it if she wasn’t sure it would work.” 

She laughs, dragging him back down into a kiss, feeling giddy and light. 

“I really feel that I should be getting more attention considering it’s thanks to me that we made it here,” Hermione says, sticking her nose in the air when they both look over at her. 

“Sorry,” she says, giggling. “We weren’t sure if you needed a moment with your books or not.” 

“Hilarious,” Hermione says dryly, rolling her eyes and grimacing down at the blood on her hands. “Absolutely hilarious.” 

“We fucking did it,” she whispers again, pressing her hands to her face and giggling. “We actually did it.” 

Hermione laughs, crawling over to kiss her, bloody hands forgotten. They lay in a tangled heap for minutes, or hours, just relishing in their accomplishment. 

Later that night, when she falls asleep in the muggle hotel room they’ve rented, she finds that for the first time _her hands are no longer tied behind her back._

_“Why does no one ever come save me?” Tamsine asks, staring solemnly at her, no tears or rage this night. Only quiet, accusing eyes and perfectly plaited braids._

_“I have,” she replies, pulling her hands from behind her back and smiling at the girl sitting on the bed. “I’m coming to save you.”_

_Tamsine stares, eyes gone wide and fearful. “You’re not supposed to do that,” the child whispers. “You’ve never done that before.”_

_“Oh,” she breathes, the missing piece finally clicking into place. “Oh, you’re real. You’re not just in my dream, I’m in yours.”_

_Tamsine stares, head shaking back and forth slowly, knuckles white where she’s gripping the edge of the bed._

_“I’m coming to save you,” Harry repeats, hopes the child remembers the promise when she awakes. “It won’t be long now. I promise, I’m coming.”_   


⚔

  


**Author's Note:**

> I genuinely have no idea where the hell this came from, i thought of the idea like two minutes before i started writing and wrote the whole thing in one sitting... so. There may be more?? I have no idea. If there is I'll update this fic, so you can just subscribe to this one in case i do i guess. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it though!!!!!!!!


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